Extermination
by Black Lothlorien
Summary: WARNING: Very descriptive, Main Characters Death. Gimli and Pippin are the last survivors of the Failed Quest, but they have one last chance to set it all right. But are they willing to make the sacrifices?
1. Prologue, Before

_Extermination._

Elves? They were a legend, nothing more than fairy tales told to slave-children to give them hope of days long, long passed. But Gimli? He knew better.

Even after all these years, over four hundred years since The Conquering, Gimli had retained his youth and vibrancy, the second of the only two survivors of the doomed Quest to destroy the One Ring.

He was known as Gimli the Eternal, his axe and wit known throughout the world as a great war hero, having defeated a Balrog under his own strength, alone. He was a warrior for the forces of good…

The Elves were gone, either having been slaughtered in droves or driven from the shores of this world. Gimli himself and young Pippin had watched from afar as Lothlórien burned, an evil spell freezing all movement inside the borders.

Elves burned to death, unable to defend themselves.

Imladris, too, fell much to the same fate. The beautiful buildings had been demolished and historical art was shredded and pulverized, like the spirits of those that had sought refuge in their walls.

Elrond had long been killed as a martyr, and Arwen had died heroically, defending her husband's body from mutilation by throwing both her and the still-warm corpse into the sea.

Glorfindel had survived, becoming the last elf to leave the shores of Middle-Earth. He carried with him the bodies of Thranduil and his sons, minus one.

Legolas…

Gimli still shuddered at the memory. The brave elf had died valiantly, his spirit strong and solid to the end…

The torture was the longest in Mordor's history. Two hundred and twenty years Legolas had lasted in the dungeons of Mordor, until he had but one arm and leg, and still he belittled Sauron, with a light in his one remaining eye and a song in his bleeding heart.

The rest of the Fellowship had died quickly. Boromir had been lucky…

Aragorn had died fleeing Minas Tirith with his children, who were hung from the cliff faces before his eyes. He had been speared through after protecting Arwen…but it had not been enough.

Gandalf had disappeared long, long ago from the world, and he had taken Merry and Samwise, plus their families, with him. Pippin had refused to run, staying instead by Gimli's side, and they had fought together for so long that they thought of each other as brothers.

Before dying, Elrond had given Pippin Vilya, one of the three elven rings of Power. Even though it's power was fading, the hobbit had born it well, and it extended his life graciously.

Through all this…

Could there still be hope?

Gimli prayed for it, even as he hid in the depths of the Lonely Mountain, his hands held out towards a scanty fire for warmth. He fell asleep listening to Pippin's deep, steady breathing.

And he dreamed of old friends.

_"Gimli!" Legolas laughed as the dwarf picked himself out of the leaves, "What are you doing? I asked you to practice tracking, not tripping!"_

_The dwarf remembered this dream, and the ending. So he grinned and stood strong, laughing with the elf, "Perhaps it takes extra effort in one to learn the other! I am, of course, an expert in the latter of the two!"_

_Legolas chuckled and stood, slipping his long knives into their sheaths, "Come now, we need to make the Refuge by dark."_

_"You spoil all our rest times with your commands," Gimli picked up his backpack, his face going dark. The dream was shorter this time. Usually he had more time… "Can we go a little slower now? I am slightly tired."_

_"Come, Gimli, we can rest when we reach Imladris," The elf looked down at him with a smile in his eyes…two eyes…both intact…both indigo…_

_Gimli could not hold it back any longer, "Legolas, no!"_

_But the elf had already turned away, and the black blade had already flown. The knife embedded itself in a tree while Legolas fell forward, eyes wide in pain and surprise, teeth clenched. His hands were both clamped down on his throat, blood running between his thin fingers._

The dream was over…and Gimli awoke in the depths of the Lonely Mountain.

Then, when sleep overtook him again, he dreamt of Frodo…kind, gentle, innocent Frodo…his eyes blackened by blindness, his poor body broken and motionless as it lay on the ledge that overlooked the Crack of Doom.

Gimli saw the barest hint of life in the hobbit's body as he struggled to move, straining with all his heart to hold onto life…

Then Sauron, his corporeal body demonic and deadly, had simply nudged the body over the edge. Pippin had been one to witness this as well, and he had screamed in anger and rage as Frodo disappeared into the magma of the Crack of Doom.

Merry was supposed to have been next…but Gandalf had intervened, his freedom from the bonds two moments too late…

Gimli snapped awake again, but this time, he did not allow sleep to take him over again. He stared up into the darkness as he listened to the stone groan, as if in the deepest depths of desolate agony.

Hallucinations came to him…

_Gimli…you have survived…_

_It is all your responsibility now…_

_There is a way…but it is dangerous…_

_If you fail, then Celeborn's sacrifice would be in vain…_

In the air before Gimli, the ghostly apparition of Legolas appeared, blood marring his throat. But the figure smiled and seemed to sit in the air, relaxed and at ease.

_There is a way for you and Pippin to save Middle-Earth…_

"Tell me, Legolas, tell me!" Gimli demanded of the ghost.

He continued as if he had not heard the dwarf, _But it is so dangerous…but I supposed that I need tell you, for hope is so scarce in these times of pain and want…_

The elf leaned forward, _Galadriel's Hair, the threefold strands that she bestowed upon you in Lothlórien, if cast into the Pit of Doom…if the blood of evil, good, and neutral are poured into the magma as well…_

_Saviors will come. I cannot tell you who, for I do not know myself, The ghost's smile disappeared, and crystal tears flowed, _I fear for you, my friend, and for the young one. Guard your steps, and keep your way safe, for the five-hundred-year mark comes soon. When the night falls on that day, Middle-Earth will be forever Sauron's…__

Legolas shimmered into the stone visage of a dwarven statue that was carved into the wall. Gimli reached under his armor and withdrew a long shard of crystal that held three stands of dulled and plain looking stands of hair.

He rolled the crystal in his hands, and the strands caught the light. For a second, they were the vibrant, shimmering threads of gold newly cut from the head of Galadriel by her own hand, and her smile superimposed on the crystal, her smile beaming light.

Galadriel…

She and Celeborn had been the only Survivors of Lórien, Their lives protected by the power of the Ring that she held, though its powers faded and disappeared soon after. They had escaped the tyranny of Middle-Earth and fled to the lands beyond the Sea.

Gimli clutched the crystal and wept.

The Crack of Doom…

It loomed before them, its gaping maw stretching wide, willing to drink in the blood that Gimli held in the wineskins. 

"Do it, Gimli," Pippin whispered, his battle-weary face momentarily returning to the young hobbit that he had been so very long ago… "We've still got a long way to go if we plan to get out of here alive."

He had been struck hard as they fought their way in. His side was bloody, and Gimli knew that he did not have much time left.

Reluctantly, he held the crystal over the lava…

He held the three wineskins over the Crack as well, one dripping with orc blood, one with elven blood, and the other with the blood of a tree, fresh sap that had been cried upon the thirsty ground.

Evil…

Good…

Neutral…

And the crystal-encased hairs of Galadriel…

They fell.


	2. Chapter One, Quest

_Aragorn…_

Beaten, bleeding, but still alive…

_Boromir…_

Struck, but not fallen, crushed, but not defeated…

_Gandalf…_

His powers strained, but his resolve all that much stronger…

_Legolas…_

Eyes bright, body whole, and still fighting with a soul fervor.

_Frodo…_

His smile happy and laughing, his face light with hope…

_Samwise…_

Both hands full, a sword and a skillet, both wielded with deadly accuracy…

_Merry…_

His pipe lit, his eyes shining, and a song in his mouth…

_Pippin…_

Twirling his sword, proud of his Gondorian armor…

_Gimli…_

Stout, ready, and eyes flared, solidly prepared for a battle to the death…

"Fool of a Took! Throw yourself in next time and rid us of your stupidity!"

Instead of looking abashed, Pippin looked astonished. He looked down at his hands and clothes, stunned and bewildered. He looked at Gimli, who seemed equally surprised, "Gimli! Is this…?"

"Yes! Let us make it count!" The dwarf jumped towards the doors in a fiery rage, his eyes roaring with a fire that stunned the others. He slammed the doors shut, with Boromir's help.

"What has come over you, Gimli?" Gandalf demanded, "Your hair and face…"

"We run! Now!" The dwarf commanded them, "Hurry! Pippin! Get them moving! We cannot stay longer than possible, else the future come true!"

"The future? What are you ranting about?" Aragorn demanded.

But it was Legolas that made the first move, "Then let us run! This place is made by the dwarves, and if Gimli so advises it, then we shall follow his commands! Guide us, dwarf, and be quick!"

Gimli let out a loud 'ha HA!' and turned towards a huge gaping hole that opened in the back wall of the room. One by one, they all scrambled through, just as the sounds of orcish drums shook the doors to Balin's Tomb.

The door splintered slightly just as Boromir made it out of the room. From there, Gimli ran, followed closely by Pippin, who knew these memories well.

The Bridge of Khazhad Dum stood before them, still complete in this time. Gimli insisted on being the last one over, just as an enraged Balrog uttered its first heart-stopping roar.

"What—what was that!" Merry cried from the stairs that led up and out of the hellhole.

"Never you mind!" Gimli snapped, "Go! Just get out of Moria! This is no place for us anymore!"

Arrows shot through the air, black devilish shafts that showered down around them. One skimmed Frodo's leg, and Legolas had to dive to catch him, preventing him from falling into the ever-gaping wound in the earth.

Sunlight had never felt so good…

"_We made it!" Pippin cried, leaping onto Gimli's back and wrapping his arms around his neck. He felt so young, though his hair was still the pure white of the future, "We did it, Gimli! We lived through that!"_

"Ha, HA!"  Gimli exulted, spinning with the hobbit still on his back. His grin threatened to chase away the dreariest of days, and his eyes shone with a light so happy, "Could it be that we have changed history?"

"What are you two babbling about?" Aragorn looked at Gandalf, who was smirking, "Gandalf, what—"

"The orcs! They're coming into the light!" Legolas' voice cried in warning, and his bowstring sang as he cut down the approaching attackers. Aragorn's bow was soon put to use as well.

The orcs could not pass into the light, but their arrows reached far into the daylight. The Fellowship was soon pushed back, into the foothills of the Misty Mountains, but they escaped…

"We're alive, Gimli," Pippin said in astonishment, "Gandalf…he's alive…"

"Yes, young hobbit, perhaps the future we know will never come," The dwarf smiled in the purest happiness.

"Does this mean that we have to go through the Quest again?" The hobbit's face turned white and he had to sit down, "But—Fangorn Forest? The Ents? Minas Tirith? Do we have to do that all over again?"

"What are you two babbling about?" Merry interrupted.

"I missed you, Merry!" Pippin jumped onto his cousin and bear-hugged him.

"Whoa, Pippin! Calm down and tell us what happened to you two in there," Frodo looked at them with a bemused smile, "You—look differently, Pippin, your hair is white! Your face is all wrinkled…what happened?"

"You have no idea," The Took laughed, "At least we're all still alive!"

"I sense something terribly different about the two of you," Gandalf said quietly, as they kept walking, "Something has happened in your lives that would make you so desperate to change the course of history."

"You have no idea what we went through, Gandalf," Gimli grumbled, "And what we had to go through in order to receive a second chance."

"What's going on?" Samwise demanded, utterly and irrevocably lost and confused.

"There is great magic surrounding Gimli and Pippin, so much that, it makes me wonder if they somehow created such a spell that they returned from the future to this time," The old wizard leaned on his staff. He held a very disturbed expression on his face, "Something is coming…"

"What is _that?" Merry cried as the ground began to quake, as if with footsteps._

_"Balrog!" Pippin cried, grabbing Merry and Frodo's wrists, "Run!"_

"Is it possible!" Gandalf ran with them, moving quickly and quietly through the forests that would eventually lead to a wide-open field. Lothlórien was so close…but if they could make it would depend on their fleetness…

"Run!" The old wizard stopped and turned, facing the approaching demon.

"No! Gandalf!" Gimli roared, "_NOT THIS TIME!_"

He ran back and grabbed the wizard's sleeve. Then he turned and ran, dragging Gandalf with him. The older man was strong, but the dwarf had determination on his side, and he managed to drag the wizard all the way to the borders of Lothlórien.

Pippin was laughing hysterically as the Balrog's footsteps faded into the distance, heading back to the Pit of Moria. Gimli could not help but grin at the wizard's flustered appearance.

"I could not let you fight him, Gandalf, for that is how you died long, long ago," Gimli tried to explain.

"Well, next time, tell me this before you decide to lead me through the forest like a disobedient child, hmm?" Gandalf dusted off his clothing.

"Where's Legolas?" Boromir spoke up suddenly, coming to the forefront of the conversation at hand. The entire Fellowship looked around in surprise and wonder, searching for the one missing member of their group.

Then everything began to shift and morph…

Gimli and Pippin stared at each other in horror as all that stood before their eyes disappeared, fading into a world of pure black terrors…the night of sadness, when Helm's Deep had nearly fallen to the Uruk-Hai invaders…

"What happened?" Pippin whispered.

"The three sacs of blood…" Gimli's eyes widened, "We are being taken to three different stages of the Old Quest. We were not to give the blood to the Crack of Doom. We are being sent back into time to _collect _it!"

"You mean…Legolas…?" Pippin sank to his knees behind the thick wall of stone, surrounded on each side by elven archers and warriors ready for battle, "When you saved Gandalf…the Powers of Doom took Legolas?"

"It is that which I fear," The dwarf crouched to one knee, and caught the hobbit's attention, "Now, shall we collect the evil blood?"

Pippin touched his sword, his face still pale and blank, "How will we know if we have succeeded? Did we not begin this Journey in order to save lives? Not to trade them? Why did anyone have to die?"

"At least he will not be forced to live two hundred twenty years in the depths of Mordor's dungeons…" Gimli's attempt at light-heartedness had failed miserably, "Tis a better death…"

"How do we know that?" Pippin whispered, his heart wrenched in pain.

"We would not have been sent back if not to do some good," The dwarf stood suddenly, his axe clenched tightly in his hands. He yelled to the orcs that stood so far below, "Ha! Your mothers wore burlap underwear and your nannies put a bag over your heads so the dog would play with you!"

Aragorn looked down at him, "Gimli, I do not think that they can respond—" He saw Pippin, white-haired and grinning, standing to the dwarf's side, "Pippin! How is it that you are here?"

"Aragorn, what is the problem? The orcs will attack very soon—" Boromir saw Pippin as well, "What in the world…where is Merry?"

"Oh, I think he's with Treebeard," Pippin said off-handedly, pulling himself up and onto the thick stone that separated him from a deadly drop. He hung there, his feet off the ground, "They'll be attacking Isengard about now."

"How many orcs do you think that we will have to kill in order to collect that special one?" Gimli grumbled as Pippin dropped down.

"I don't know," The hobbit shook his white head.

"I remember when we escaped from Moria, you spoke like this as well, then you both disappeared into thin air," Aragorn said quietly, "We find you again, here, at the worst of times."

"We know what happened to Legolas, we think," Pippin interjected, holding his hands up so he could continue, but he was interrupted anyway.

"Yes, we know as well!" Boromir snapped, "The Lórien elves found his blood on the ground. He had been killed by the blasted—"

The orcs attacked.

Pippin grimaced at the streams of profanities that poured from the dwarf's mouth. Long ago had Gimli himself taught him these battle-curses, and now that there were elves around to hear them and cringe…

He did not think it a good idea if he so followed the dwarf's example.


	3. Chapter Two, Loss

"That was easy!" Gimli laughed. The battle had not lasted long for them. The first orc blood to touch the ground, Pippin assumed, had sent them on to their final destination. They were standing in the Shire now, black storm-clouds overhead, and Pippin did not understand where he was supposed to go. Something led him towards the old Bag End…

"Ai there, old man! Would you be needing some help?" A familiar voice came from behind them. It was Sam, and he was old…but the War had not dimmed his spirits, not at all. He still smiled as widely as he ever had…

"No…" Pippin shook his head slowly, in disbelief, "Gimli…"

"What is it?"

"It's _Sam…" He gasped out and went over to his friend slowly. He reached out to touch the hands that still had dirt caught under the nails. He had been gardening… "Sam…Sam, do you recognize me?"_

At first, the hobbit was silent, but his eyes widened, "_Pippin?_ But—but—but you're so old! I saw you just yesterday! Your skin! Your hair! What happened to you?"

"Gimli…" Pippin croaked, turning to his dwarven friend.

"A dwarf! Pippin, what kind of trouble have you been getting into?" He demanded.

"Sam! You're late!" Frodo jogged down the road, his face happy and mock-scolding, "We were supposed to be helping Old Bilbo get ready for the party! What are you staring at—"

"Frodo…" Pippin spun to Gimli, "Is this it? Are we supposed to condemn a friend like Sam to death? I won't do it, Gimli! I won't!"

"Calm down, Pippin!" Gimli grabbed his shoulder while a stunned Frodo and a curious Samwise stared at them, "We have Elven and orc blood so far. We need only neutral blood to finish the spell!"

"But neutral—that means hobbit!" Pippin went white, his face almost matching his hair.

"Pip—" Frodo came up behind him, causing him to spin, "If you really are Pippin Took, tell me, are we related?"

"Of course, you're my cousin, once removed on your mother's side—" The old hobbit flashed back to that fateful night in Bree, when he had inadvertently told the Bree-men of Frodo's true identity.

"Who is Sam's love interest?"

"Hey!" Sam turned bright red, but Pippin laughed.

"Don't worry, Sam, Rosie waits for you," He felt the daily fatigue come upon him, as if his old body was running down, slowly but surely. Gimli chuckled and wrapped an arm around his shoulder.

"Well, Master Baggins, would it be possible for us to call on Master Bilbo? I would wish to give him my father's greetings, and to speak with him," The dwarf glanced at Frodo's neck. It had not yet felt the weight of the Ring…

"Of course, Master Dwarf, it had been long since your kind has been in the Shire," Frodo led them towards Bag End. Pippin walked a little slower, remembering all the good times that they had spent in the Shire, the beautiful days when they had no cares in the world.

His eyes darkened as he remembered what the Shire had looked like after Sauron had struck. Evil Incarnate, the Demon himself, stood at the top of the hill where Bag End was dug into.

Blood—hobbit blood—ran down the gravel streets in rivers, and smashed carts and merchant stands lay in pieces, their owners buried under them, trampled by the hooves and paws of horses and wargs.

No man, woman, or child had survived the Burning of the Shire. Pippin and Merry had themselves run into the burning Bag End, to rescue Frodo, blinded by the falling cinders…and the blast of energy from the One Ring, which resided happily on its Master's hand.

Gollum, his face twisted into a grimace of pain and elation, a strange mix to see, bared his teeth and choked out a pitiful '_gollum, gollum_' before turning away and clambering back to his Master's side.

Pippin still held the scar that the blasted creature had given him after he had stolen the Ring from Frodo. Instead, he had taken the Ring to Sauron in exchange for 'freedom.' He had left Pippin dying from a bite wound to the throat.

It had healed, but not before he had tasted true death. He was so close to the abyss that he felt that there was nothing more that he could do…but Legolas had saved him. That was before he had been attacked and captured…

The door to Bag End was different. Last time Pippin had seen it, it was hanging off the hinges, lying half-burnt on the brown lawn. When Bilbo came to the door, it was strange to seem him alive and moving unhindered…instead of hobbling on one leg and a broken arm.

"Ah, Frodo, my lad!" Bilbo grinned, "And Sam! You bring visitors with you, do you now? And who might you be, friends?"

"I am Gimli. Your past comrade in Thorin and Company Glóin is my father," The dwarf bowed deeply, removing his helmet in politeness.

"Ah, good friends are always welcome here! How is your father?" Bilbo laughed heartily, "I could tell you a good many stories of his bravery…But I did not think that old Glóin had such an old son…"

Pippin filtered out their conversation as he looked past them, to the Party Field. It had been filled with piles of burning bodies last he had gazed upon it, and the ground had been covered with blood and severed limbs. It made him want to retch just at the memory.

"And who might you be?" Bilbo extended his hand to Pippin with a smile of true warmth, just like he remembered.

"You don't recognize me?" Pippin said sadly, hopefully, as if there was some way that he could return to being just simple ol' Pippin again, "You might have seen me just yesterday, Bilbo, but it has been near four hundred years since I last saw you…"

The older hobbit narrowed his eyes, then gasped in realization, "Good god, Pippin! What has happened to you? Is that _really_ you? How is—"

"I wish that I could speak of what is to come…" Pippin shook his head and turned to Gimli, "What if we made for Fangorn? Treebeard would help us."

"If that were an option, I'm sure that the spell would have put us there," Gimli growled, and turned back to Bilbo, "Master Baggins, would it be all right if we returned later? Master Took and I have much to speak of."

"Use the garden, my friends!" Bilbo insisted, "Planted by dear Samwise here."

Once Gimli and Pippin were alone, Gimli shook his head, "I do not know what the spell wishes us to do here. We cannot kill a hobbit for neutral blood, no matter how dearly we wish the future to change."

"Maybe it won't be permanent," Pippin hoped, "You said that Legolas' ghost said that the blood would send saviors. What if the people that they send are the people whose blood was spilt in turn for the spell to work?"

"Farfetched, Pippin, but then again, so is our sitting, looking over an intact Shire," The dwarf huffed and noticed a couple of hobbit children staring at him. He waved and they ran off.

"But I do not want to kill anyone!" Pippin cried softly, "I just want this to all be over! I want everyone to just be alive!" He started crying into his sleeve. Stiffly, Gimli set his arm around the hobbit's shoulders, patting in reassurance.

"We've been through much together," Gimli smiled slightly, "Let us keep ourselves together for one last battle."

Pippin fingered Vilya, the ring that was the only thing that kept him alive. Once, he had removed it, perhaps a hundred and fifty years ago, just to test and see what would happen. He had nearly died, and he would have if Gimli had not been there to shove it back onto his finger.

Suddenly, his head shot up.

"Blood!" He cried.

"What?" Gimli drew back and stared at him.

"Blood! This whole thing is about blood!" He stood suddenly, "What did Boromir saw the Lórien elves had found of Legolas'? When were we sent here? Only after blood had touched the ground!"

"I do not understand, young hobbit."

"Young!" Pippin gasped, jumping to his feet, "Neutral blood! All it has to do is touch the ground and it will all work out!"

Gimli's eyes widened, "But how do we find someone who is willing to spill blood onto the ground? Do you have any idea how strange it is going to sound if we ask a hobbit to cut himself?"

"I'm not neutral anymore, so I cannot do it myself," Pippin turned away, biting his knuckle, "But I know who would be willing to help me."

"Are you mad? First, you show up looking like a hundred years have gone by—"

"Four hundred and ninety eight to be exact."

"Yeah, whatever. You come here looking like an old man, and you have a dwarf with you that looks equally as old—no offence, Master Dwarf—and you expect me to spill my blood onto the ground so you can conjure up some spell to save the future Middle-Earth?"

Pippin nodded.

Frodo smirked, "I wouldn't miss this for the world. If what you say is true, then we can save the future from coming true. When do we start?"

Gimli huffed, "There's no time like the present. Give me your arm, friend hobbit."

They were sitting out back, in the garden, watching the stars wheel overhead, And Frodo looked only slightly nervous about offering his bare arm to a dwarf, but a quick poke to his shoulder rendered his entire arm completely numb. He stared at Pippin in disbelief.

"Don't worry, it wears off," He rested his old hand, the one with Vilya, onto Frodo's shoulder, "Legolas taught it to me after you—well, let's just say that Gollum got a little too close and stole the Ring. We had to patch you up."

"Gollum? Ring? What are you talking about?" Frodo kept his gaze away from Gimli.

"It's a long story, my friend," The old hobbit patted him on the shoulder.

"Tell me, what did happen to us? You said that we traveled with an elf? A real, live elf?" Frodo felt a prick in his arm, but tried to ignore it.

"His name was Legolas, and he was Prince of the woodland realm of Mirkwood," Gimli said, pulling Frodo's slowly bleeding arm out over the soft, moist ground, "He was a dear friend to me, and he suffered greatly for our cause."

"And me? What happened to me…"

As the first drop of blood fell, Pippin felt time seem to slow. He felt as if he were falling forward, into a deep pit of thick molasses. Frodo's words seemed to slip into the deepest pit of nothingness.


	4. Chapter Three, Ending

_BOOM!_

He hit the ground in a roll, coming up with his sword in his hand. Gimli, grumbling and cursing, climbed to his feet, double-bladed Moria axe ready and willing for the battle that he wanted so badly to come.

"Gimli! You—you're young again!" Pippin knew something had happened to them. His own voice was stronger, and he looked down, tracing his fingers over the Gondorian armor that he wore so proudly, "We're both young again…"

"And we live…again," Gimli spun around so fast that he nearly tipped over. Seemingly balanced by some sick twist of nature, Legolas stood behind them, silhouetted against the flames that surrounded him.

Even as they watched, his leg and arm regenerated and he flexed them, as if it had been two hundred years…Scars disappeared back into smooth, perfect skin. The elf looked up from his hand and Pippin saw his eyes, both whole, both indigo.

"Aye, my friends, we are whole now, purified by your sacrifices." 

_Frodo…_

Blackened eyes, blinded by fire, became whole once again, of the purest blue that had ever been seen in Middle-Earth. Blood de-coagulated and ran from his clothes and the ground, back into his body as if in some freakish rewind. The broken arms and ribs moved under the skin to mold back together, whole in its crudeness.

"I, as well, owe you my existence."

An orc stood before them. His throat had been slashed, and a long, ragged slash ran down his chest. Bone knitted, flesh grew, and blood was absorbed back into the healthy body that was meant to be. 

Then, black skin began to fade, and the creature of evil's entire posture changed. Bones cracked and broke, reforming themselves, while muscles tore and grew back, shaping new forms.

Black blood poured out as the morphing creature spewed it onto the ground. Gallons upon gallons of sticky black liquid splashed against the ground, shining glassily in the firelight. The single remaining cut on the creature forehead began to bleed red, and the heaving stopped.

Yellow eyes became green, ragged black hair became smooth blonde, and razor teeth softened and became white. A noble elf stood before them then, his clothing marking him as an archer of the old Noldorian race.

"I thank you, Pippin Took, Gimli Elf-Friend, from the bottom of my heart," The new elf seemed relieved beyond all sense of the word, "Since beyond time, my existence has been plagued by nightmares, and you have released me from them."

"What is your name, that we might know who you are," Pippin spoke up from behind Gimli.

"I am Elinthoniel, meaning star-kindler, though that name has long been forsaken from me. As an orc, I was called Kiskh," His eyes slipped to the ground.

Frodo was the first to step forward. He extended his hand to the reborn creature of light, "Welcome…Elinth—Elin—"

Elinthoniel laughed heartily, and they found it to be like that of Galadriel or Legolas, refreshing and pure. He clasped Frodo's hand, "Elin is fine, halfling friend, if I may call you as a friend to me."

"You're a friend to all of us," Gimli said, his voice growling and approving, "Though I do not understand how an orcs can become an elf—"

"There are a great many things about the elves that you, as of now, Gimli the Eternal, do not know, nor shall ever fully understand," Legolas spoke finally, his hand clenched around his regenerated wrist. It felt real to him…He stepped forward and clasped Elinthoniel's shoulder, "It is an honor to know you, for few can say that they have truly been in the presence of one of the original elven archers."

"I am really not as gifted, nor as skilled, as you make me out to be, friend, else I would have been able to avoid capture by Sauron and his dread forces," He shook his head, "Your grip is firm. One of the woodland races?"

"Legolas, son of Thranduil, who is—was—the King of Mirkwood," Legolas grimaced.

"Now…"

Everyone turned to look at Pippin, who was standing with this arms crossed. Vilya glittered on his finger, with seemingly newborn power. It burned brightly, as if newly forged in the forges of the Elven Ring Makers.

"Does anyone have any idea about how to get out of here?"

Frodo looked up. Above them, not of black clouds and soot, but clear blue and spotted here and there with white puffs, a sky lingered, and a bird flew overhead. When he looked at the others, they were standing in a forest clearing, with birds flitting about around them, chirping happily.

The leaves of the trees were green and healthy, yet they glimmered with light, with gold, and with silver highlights, as if there was magic in them. The birds were more graceful than any that he had seen before.

"What do we do now?" Elinthoniel asked, holding his bow in his hand, the arrow not yet nocked.

"I don't know," Frodo admitted, and the others added their uncertainty with shrugs and shakes of their heads. As they surveyed the golden forest around them, something moved, "Legolas! Elin! There!"

Arrows were nocked and raised, but they lowered just as quickly.

 Galadriel stepped from the forest, and Elrond followed. Celeborn… Thranduil… Gandalf… They were all there.

Legolas fell to one knee when he saw his father, and Elinthoniel followed suit a few seconds later when Gil-Galad, the last High-King of the Noldor in Middle-Earth, emerged into the clearing as well.

All the elven lords and ladies were dressed in unremarkable clothes, and Gandalf was dressed in his normal white cloak.

"Welcome to Valinor, my friends," Galadriel smiled, resting her hand on Gimli's shoulder. Her smile was like water to a dying man, "Your feat of sacrifice has changed the course of the future, and you have made time follow the path that it was always meant to take."

Gil-Galad spoke, his voice deep and commanding, yet there was an element of kindness there as well, "Peregrin Took, it is not your fate to remain here, in Valinor. We are to return you to Middle-Earth, and there, you will remember the true path of time."

"My lord, will all memories of this time be erased?" Legolas could not hold back his question. He wanted with all his soul to forget what he had seen, felt, and been forced to endure. Two and a half hundred years had taken their toll on his spirit…

Thranduil approached his son, taking his hand and raising him to his feet. In a rather un-elvish show of emotion, the elven king embraced his son with true love.

"All memories will be lost," Elrond crouched before Pippin, "I do believe that you have something that I entrusted to you, many years ago."

Pippin pulled Vilya off his finger and handed it to the elf-lord, who reached out and ruffled his hair, as if he were not a lord of elves.

"Rejoice in your feats, my friends," Celeborn smiled at them, "And revel in the futures that have been given to you."

"Then, if this is Valinor, I suppose that I will be sent back to Middle-Earth as well," Gimli grumbled, a grain of loss in his voice, "It was a great honor to gaze yet again on the beauty of Galadriel."

"You will stay, Gimli," Legolas was released by his father, and there were tears glittering in his eyes, "I see what the future was meant to be…this is also your home, elf-friend. Forever shall you stay."

"Well, I'm ready to go home," Pippin blustered and grinned, "I can't wait to see Sam and Merry again."

"I'm staying?" Frodo got a nod from Celeborn, then turned to Pippin and they embraced for a long time, "Tell everyone good-bye for me?"

"Sure," Pippin had to blink away the tears, but there was resolve in his voice as he turned to Galadriel, "I'm ready."

Galadriel moved to the side, and Gil-Galad lowered himself to one knee before him. The elven high-king's hand rested on his chest, over his heart. Galadriel's hand rested on his right shoulder, Celeborn's on his left. Thranduil touched his right hand, and Elrond touched his left.

Gandalf laughed, "It is a pity that you will remember none of this, for it would make a good story to tell. Perform well in your duties as Thain, Peregrin Took, and someday, we will all meet again."

"Thain?"

When Gandalf's hand touched his head, Pippin was sent reeling backwards.

_Blood…_

_Death…_

_Orcs everywhere…_

_Men and elves dying…_

_Elrond, dead, killed by the hand of Sauron himself, in front of the mural of Isildur…_

_Aragorn, lying still at the bottom of the sea, Arwen clinging to him in death…_

_Legolas, his body mangled, burning in the funeral pyres of Mordor…_

_Boromir, lying still in the unsinkable Lórien boat…_

_Faramir, eyes frozen open, gazing with death's stare over the burnt ruin that had once been Ilithien…_

_All these memories…_

_Were being torn away._

_His own blood, spilling to the stones…_

_Replaced…_

_Forgotten…_

_Love…_

_Life…_

_Dreams realized…_

_Legolas, smiling at him, after the War…_

_Aragorn being crowned King of Gondor…_

_Merry picking at the clothing of a Rohan knight…_

_Eowyn and Faramir, married and happy in each other's arms…_

"Hey, Pip!"

Pippin landed on his rump, and he was nearly panicked out of his wits, "Merry! Don't _do that!" He stood and dusted himself off, laughing, "We're trying to actually make it to Gondor!"_

His friend and cousin looked down at him from his horse, from which he had poked his friend, "I only poked you, Pippin. Why are you so high-strung? We're retired and on our way to visit Aragorn! We should be relaxing!"

_Retired? At first, it didn't make any sense, but those thoughts faded…_

"You're right," He remounted his horse, "Let's get going then, I must have drifted off."

"I'll say," Merry laughed. 

From what Pippin could remember, he and Merry had just retired from their public offices and were riding from Rohan to Gondor, to visit old friends.  It was the year 64, of the Fourth Age, the Age of Man.

And he was old.

He started laughing, and even though Merry looked at him strangely, he kept laughing, from joy or relief, he could not tell.

All he knew was that it finally felt good to be old.


End file.
